Holding a Grudge
by xCrimsonxBlackxBloodx
Summary: When the nightshift gets taken hostage by a group of convicts, who will make it out alive? Will anyone?
1. Hour Zero Captured

**Disclaimer: I wished upon a star once; I asked it to give me two billion dollars so I could buy CSI from Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. Stupid star didn't do anything.**

**And many thanks to the world's best beta, Stormchilde. I don't think I have met anyone else who could give me as many compliments on my writing as she could. **

**Hour Zero - Captured**

" … How did we all come to this?" Greg Sanders sang loudly, accompanying the deafening music that blasted from the CD player in the lab that was once again his.

"This greed that we just can't resist!" Deirdre Hayes, the newest lab tech and somewhat secretly, Greg's girlfriend, yelled out while analyzing a sample of blood from Catherine's and Nick's crime scene, a robbery turned murder near Lake Mead. Deirdre was the reason that Greg didn't mind being back in the lab, though he had to admit, it was probably best for the team anyway. The two DNA techs could do about three shifts worth of work in one, too, so both did get their own fair share of field work.

"And we're all to blame. We've gone too far, from pride to shame. We're trying so hard, we're dying in vain. We're hopelessly blissful and blind, to all we are. We want it all…" Both sang terribly off-key just as Warrick came in, smirking slightly as he turned down the CD player so he could talk to them.

"If you two aren't too busy making fools of yourselves, I was hoping for my results," he said.

Deirdre grinned in a manner that made Warrick positive Greg was giving her lessons on ways to be just like him. "Which ones?" she asked.

"All of them if you have them," he said, resting his elbows on the counter.

"Gotcha." Greg pushed his chair across the room and grabbed a tidy stack of papers with the words 'Warrick's case' printed carefully in Deirdre's hand-writing across the top of the first page. "Okay, the first sample of blood is your vic's."

"So is the second," Deirdre added.

"And the third," Greg mentioned.

"So is the first blond hair sample you found."

"And all the others."

"Is there anything that doesn't belong to the vic?" Warrick asked the two techs.

Deirdre gave him a look, but Greg answered. "We were getting to that; the brown hair is a half match -"

"- So you'll be looking for a brother or sister, 'cause we checked the files. Her parents are dead and no children -"

"- And the DNA under the vic's nails matches the semen found on the bed sheets. I ran it through CODIS but got nothing."

Warrick sighed. "Typical." He muttered to himself, grabbing the results to show Sara, who was working on the case with him.

"You're welcome," Deirdre said in a slightly annoyed sigh-song voice. The only reply she got was that of the glass door closing. She growled and turned the music back up. "Talk about a lack of gratitude."

Greg chuckled. He had long ago gotten used to the few words exchanged by the CSIs and lab techs and was no longer annoyed when no one seemed to care how hard he worked. He knew it wasn't that way, that everyone was just extremely busy. "Relax, he appreciates it." Greg assured her.

"He could show it once in a while." Deirdre grumbled, getting back to work again.

He smiled to himself; Deirdre had a surprising temper though she managed to keep it in check fairly well. He grabbed a swab from Catherine's case and began to analyze it, following the brunette's example. Within minutes, the two were yelling out song lyrics again.

"So…" Greg began, with a sly edge to his voice as he slipped around Deirdre and changed CDs. As much as he liked Sum 41, he had to admit that listening to the same songs for three and a half hours straight was getting rather boring. "Who do you think Sara's and Warrick's murderer is; the boyfriend without a good alibi, the jealous ex, or the mystery fingerprint back at trace?"

"It's obviously the fingerprint guy," Deirdre replied, as if it was the clearest thing in the world. "The boyfriend does have an alibi, even if it's not good, and why would he even want to kill her in the first place? You can tell he adores her, and the ex seems too… sensible and careful, to kill anyone; too much of a neat-freak. I doubt that he would do anything that would cause him to get dirty at all and slitting someone's throat assures you a 99.9 chance of doing just that."

"Unless you're wearing something to protect your clothing," Greg reminded her, starting up the new CD and grabbing a swab of some unknown substance from Grissom's case. "And there were traces of plastic caught in a pocket zipper on the suspect's coat."

Deirdre 'hmph'ed as way of reply. Greg knew she was more stubborn than she was tall - and she was nearly 5'9 - about 5 inches taller than the average female height, and hated to be pulled into an argument that she would most likely lose.

"It was Ziploc bag plastic though." she said suddenly, triumphantly. "Do you realize how many Ziploc bags you would have to melt together to make a suit? And then there's the fact that the sample was never in contact with direct heat…"

"Dee, you're hopeless."

"I'm right, then! You can't argue it, so it must be the fingerprint man!" Deirdre crowed, doing her own version of a victory dance before placing her sample in the mixer.

Seconds later, Grissom walked in, a folder in one hand, grabbing the CD player remote control and pausing their music with the other. Both techs knew that he had been doing paper work of the last few days and decided neither was envious of him.

"Greg, Deirdre, could I ask you two a favor?" He asked.

Greg already knew what the graveyard shift supervisor wanted. "Work another double-shift? Sure, just one thing, though."

The brief flash of surprise that flickered across Grissom's face disappeared. "What's that Greg?"

Greg hadn't noticed Deirdre fiddling with the CD player as he spoke with the CSI but just as he was about to reply, she found the CD she was looking for, popped it in the machine and skipped to the song she wanted.

"Catch me as I fall, say you're here and it's all over now..." She sang horribly and over-dramatically.

Greg rolled his eyes and pulled off a glove before covering her mouth with his hand. The squawking she called singing immediately stopped and she began to make gagging noises into Greg's hand, pulling it off.

"Latex stinks, Greg," she told him, glaring. It was obvious though that she was teasing him. "Never do that again."

Neither realized that Grissom had left, shaking his head at their playfulness and that someone else had replaced him in watching the two. With the music still turned up loud, neither noticed that the halls were unusually quiet either.

Finally, the stranger paused their music and spoke up as two of his friends came in beside him, both with guns in their hands and just as burly as the first man. "Listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say. You might get hurt less that way."

…

Catherine Willows put the black Tahoe into park and shut it off just as Nick Stokes jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the back, pulling out a tote full of evidence bags.

"I'm so glad we've finally found something," he said in reply to the look on Catherine's face as she grabbed their field kits and closed the back hatch.

"It actually took us three days to see it though." Catherine replied as she walked through the front door, only to find the lab silent. Not even Greg's or Deirdre's music was playing which immediately sent off warning bells in her head.

"What the…?" Nick muttered, seeing that the receptionist wasn't at her place. Caroline had never left her desk during shift in the last five years he had known her.

Carefully Catherine began to walk forward, being as quiet as she could with heels. Something was very wrong here, she knew that much, but didn't know what.

She found out very quickly though when she heard a loud bang behind her signaling that Nick had dropped their evidence. "Nick -" she hissed, turning around. The rest of her sentence got lost in her throat, though when she saw a .45 caliber gun resting against Nick's left temple.

"You like your friend, right?" The gunman asked as one of his friends approached Catherine.

Mutely, the blond nodded.

"And you don't want me to scatter his brains across your lovely crime lab?" The man, short, strong, and dressed all in black, continued.

She nodded again.

"Alright," the other man spoke up. "Give me your gun, please," he told Catherine as the gunman grabbed Nick's. She pursed her lips and obeyed. "Good. There's a room down the hallway before you with closed blinds; I believe it's your break room. Keep your head down and go inside. If anyone sees you peeking through the binds, you'll wish you'd died as a child. Got it? Both of you?"

The two CSIs nodded their heads.

Wordlessly, seeing only the ground and their feet, they walked into the break room finding Grissom, Sara and Warrick already there. Grissom seemed to be the only one calm; Warrick was pacing, while Sara sat on the black couch resting against the glass wall closest to the door. All three though, looked even worse when they saw Nick and Catherine come in.

"An explanation, please?" Catherine demanded, trying not to snap at anyone.

"What is there to explain?" Grissom asked her mildly. "We've been taken hostage."

…

"Well, you're a pretty one, aren't you?" The stranger said, looking Deirdre up and down. His two friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. He turned to Greg, "Don't you think so too?"

"Leave her alone," Greg told them instead of answering, wondering if he could get some chemicals out of the nearest cupboard. He knew his gun, which lay in his locker, was useless to him but if one of the men got Isopropanol in the eye chances were that they would go blind even with medical attention.

They all laughed at Greg's near threat. The tallest, who topped Greg by six inches at least, walked up to him with a somewhat demonic grin and asked, "And if we don't, do you think you can stop us?"

He didn't answer but instead subconsciously stood up a bit straighter.

The first man laughed as he watched this and called out, "I know that look Wayne, he's gonna try anyway! Aren't you Lab Rat?"

The man called Wayne sneered at Greg then grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the counter making him see stars. Greg could vaguely remember hearing Deirdre scream out his name as he was roughly shoved to the floor and his wrists were tied to the work station, an edge now stained with his blood. The blow hadn't been hard enough to knock him out and their captors laughed again as Deirdre rushed over to check if he was okay.

"Greg? Greg, talk to me," she told him urgently. With a hand on either side of his face she tilted his head so she could look him in the eyes. She hissed when she saw the gash on his forehead and was trying to blot it with the inside of the sleeve of her lab coat when Wayne grabbed her by the arms and forced her to the far end of the lab. Deirdre screamed and kicked and thrashed the whole way as they ripped her lab coat then her burgundy t-shirt from her body.

"Hey, leave her alone!" Greg shouted at them when he had regained his senses and had realized what was going on. He tried to get up but the ropes around his wrists kept him still. "Don't - don't - just leave her alone!"

"Brent?" Wayne looked at the shortest of the three, the one who wasn't taking part in toying with Deirdre. "He's more your type. Would you mind shutting him up?"

Brent's face split into a grin that had something in it that Greg just couldn't place. "Sure thing," he said joyously, grabbing a 9mm gun and a knife. He cut Greg free and led him to the shop then retied him to the hydraulic lift that they used to check under suspects and victim's cars.

"Tell me," Brent began, grinning as he paced back and forth surveying the other man. "What's your name? I can't just keep calling you 'lab rat,' after all. I'm Brent, by the way, and I'm thinking, why can't we be on first name terms?"

Greg gave him a look that could peel paint. "Because you're keeping my friends and I captive." He told him, as if pointing out the obvious truth - which, to him, it was.

"So you won't tell me something as simple as your name?" Brent seemed somewhat disappointed.

"You know, if we meet on the street or whatever and you asked me that, I would probably tell you without a second thought, now… not so much."

Brent shrugged, doubling his fists. "So, you won't answer simple questions, and you don't know when to shut up -"

"Have you ever wondered why my mother has a few too many grey hairs?"

"And you like to interrupt people. You need to be taught a few lessons on manners, my dear Lab Rat… Lesson One starts right now, by the way…"

Though he had prepared himself for the first blow, Greg hadn't been prepared for the power and ferocity behind it. His tormentor was shorter than all of the others and he was built on stocky, not strong, lines. He hadn't expected Brent to be half as powerful as he had proven himself to be.

The second hit, to his stomach, would have made him cry out in pain if he could but it had knocked the wind out of his lungs and nearly made his dinner leave his stomach too. Before he had the chance to refill his lungs, Brent had landed two more blows on him. Once his lungs were filled and he was able to cry out, he did.

Finally, after delivering a heavy rain of blows to his face and upper body, Brent stopped. He had turned away from Greg a little less then a minute ago massaging his knuckles, something that sent a slight surge of satisfaction through the tech; at least Brent had been caused pain too even if it wasn't nearly as bad as his.

Greg closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain and to think of some way to get away. As he heard the grating sound of metal against metal though, his concentration was lost and he opened his eyes dreading what was going to happen next.

Brent still had the knife he had used to cut Greg free back in the DNA lab and he was now holding it in his hand. There was a cruel, merciless and somewhat excited look on his face as he stalked towards Greg. He waved the knife in Greg's face, turning the blade so that the lights flashed off the steel and into the tech's eyes. Leisurely, Brent stroked the cool flat of the blade lightly over his captive's face, arms and upper body and seemed almost frustrated when Greg didn't flinch away from it.

Suddenly Brent drew the knife across Greg's chest, leaving a bloody trail behind. Greg gasped in pain and did try to escape from the touch of the knife this time but this only amused the older man more. With a slight chuckle at the lab tech's antics, he slashed at his chest, drawing more blood and yells of agony.

…

Deirdre sat on the couch in the break room nervously, Catherine's forensics jacket wrapped around her shoulders and clothed only in her under garments. She had been unable to grab her ruined clothes before Wayne and two of his friends seized her and literally threw her in here, thankfully they had done nothing that she would have too many nightmares about. Now she was more worried about Greg than she was herself, especially after hearing the screams through the closed shop doors and after learning that none of the CSIs knew where he was.

Sniffing slightly, incredibly thirsty, she gingerly got up and went to get herself some water. She winced as she slowly reached up into the mug cupboard, something that Grissom, though he wasn't truly paying attention to her, noticed. He stood up and took down a mug for her, filled it with water, and handed it to her gently, making sure that she could hold it before letting go completely.

"Thanks," she muttered, looking down into the mug. She liked being independent, and it was embarrassing that she couldn't even get herself something to drink without help - from her boss, nonetheless.

"If you need help, just ask, okay?" He told her, his voice as quiet as his own.

She nodded, still not looking him in the eye and sat back down at her spot beside Catherine on the couch. Grissom sat back down at his place on the coffee table looking at her for a second before fixing an unwavering gaze on the closed, locked and guarded door.

Finally, not being able to stand the silence that they had been shrouded in for nearly an hour any longer, Deirdre said what she knew everyone was thinking aloud, though somewhat pitifully. "I really hope he's okay."

Catherine put an arm around her in comfort, nodding.

Nick looked up at her for the first time since she had been thrown to the ground before him and gave her a weak smile. "Greg'll be fine," he said reassuringly. "He's strong -"

"-And stubborn," Warrick interrupted. He had stopped pacing about 15 minutes after Deirdre came in, and was now sitting across from Sara, who seemed to have zoned out completely.

"That, too," the Texan agreed. "He'll make it."

"And if he doesn't," Catherine added. "I'll have something to say about it, because I was hoping for my results today."

Deirdre chuckled a little, and then drained her cup. "We were almost finished with those too."

"What do you think happened?" Nick asked her. He and Catherine were pretty sure what had happened but he wanted to know what she thought.

"From what I've been hearing -"

"Or from what Greg's been hearing and telling you -" Sara interrupted, brought back to reality by the sound of their voices.

"Or that and from the evidence I've seen and analyzed, I'm thinking that the robbery was that of opportunity and the murder was accidental." said Deirdre. "Most store robbers who threaten to kill people and actually mean it use guns since it's faster and easier, but this one had a knife, so that makes me think that it was out of desperation that someone wasn't complying."

"They may not have had access to a gun or they might not have been a part of that 'most' category," Sara pointed out, turning on her counter space seat to face the lab tech.

"Crimes escalate," Grissom told the younger CSI, "so, if this wasn't a crime of opportunity, the suspect would have robbed people before he hit that store, meaning they would have probably -" He stopped talking as he heard the chains that kept the door locked rattle, turning his gaze away from Sara.

They all stayed stock-still as the chains stopped rattling and the man Deirdre recognized as Brent opened it. Wayne and his friend, Marcus threw Greg's bruised and bloody body to the floor before the graveyard shift like they had done to her.

Catherine held Deirdre back as the Brent spat on Greg's blood-covered face before leaving. Deirdre shook the blond off of her before they had even fully closed the door, wincing as her bruised body protested the quick movements. She fell to her knees beside Greg, immediately trying to find out how responsive he was.

"Greg?" She said louder than necessary, one hand resting on his forehead. "Greg, can you hear me?"

Greg's eyelids cracked open a bit. " …Dee?" He whispered weakly as everyone came to see with their own eyes if he was alright. "What happened?"

"They took you, don't you remember?" Deirdre asked him, running her other hand down one of his arms, then the other, checking for broken bones.

Greg shook his head slightly and closed his eyes again. "I mean to you."

"It could have been worse," she said quietly, realizing just how bloody his shirt was and the numerous holes in it. Without hesitating and knowing that she had to see how bad the wounds on his chest and torso were, she curled her fingers into one of the holes and ripped the blood soaked cloth apart.

"I liked that shirt," Greg informed her, only half-conscious.

"Well, now I know what to get you for your birthday.''

"It's not as bad as it looks, you know," he said.

"Man, do you know how bad it does look?" Nick asked, his voice almost as weak as Greg's. He was shocked by the brutal attack on someone he thought of as his little brother.

"They're really not that deep," Greg continued, apparently not hearing what Nick had said.

"I don't care," Deirdre said, knowing that it wasn't the number; it was the number and pain from them that was making her secret love the way he was, "I want to check them anyway."

She turned to ask Sara to get the first-aid kit she knew was stored in the break room, unless Wayne and his friends and taken it, but stopped in mid-sentence when she saw Grissom by an open cupboard.

"It's not here," he told her, closing the cupboard door.

Deirdre frowned, but gently slid Greg's shirt from under him and ripped off a sleeve to clean some of the blood of his chest and see where the worst cuts were. She quickly folded the torn shirt up into a makeshift bandage, placing the thickest folds over the deepest cuts and tying it tight enough to help stop the bleeding but not enough to hurt the other tech too much. When Greg didn't say anything as she worked, everyone realized that he had slipped into unconsciousness.

"We should get him on the couch," Catherine said, feeling his forehead like Deirdre had about a minute before and like she did when her daughter was sick. "He's running a bit of a fever."

Warrick stepped forward, gently picked Greg up in his arms and lay him down on the now unoccupied couch, the look on his face almost pitying. Deirdre hadn't even told any of them that she had heard Greg's cries of pain as they dragged her back here either. She shuddered to think what other horrors they had in store for them as Nick pulled off his own forensics jacket and covered Greg.

…

What do you think, people? That I should have gotten Deirdre to do less and the others, more? Yeah, I agree. I'm still trying to find that little, fine line that tells me I'm getting one character to do too much, but it's being very elusive. Anyway, now you at least know who the main-main characters are (I hope).

Other than the fine line problem, what do you think? Should I keep going? Don't forget to feed the muse on your way out!

xCxBxBx

Oh, and by the way, the lyrics I borrowed were from the songs All to Blame by Sum 41 and Whisper by Evanescence, both very good songs.


	2. Day 1 Let the Games Begin

**Disclaimer: I wished upon a star again; I asked it to give me two billion dollars so I could buy CSI from Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. Again, the stupid star didn't do anything.**

**A million thanks to my partner in crime (beta) Stromchilde!**

**Day One - Let the Games Begin**

His abrupt return to consciousness didn't surprise him for long, especially once he realized the pain he was feeling. His body stung and smarted from head to toe and his torso was on fire. His head pounded, his limbs felt like someone had pumped lead into them as he slept and to top it all off, he was really thirsty. Talk about feeling like crap.

Slowly he opened his eyes, hoping to at least find out where he was. He quickly closed them with a slight groan, as painfully bright light hit them, making his headache sharpen.

"Greg?" Catherine's voice, quiet and gentle, seemed to travel to his brain slowly.

He opened his eyes again, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light which he found really wasn't all too bright. He saw that Catherine was watching him with a slightly worried look on her face from her chair, which she had rolled close to the couch he was lying on. Nick, Warrick, Sara and Deirdre were asleep in various places - mostly on the floor, some leaning up against various objects around the room. Brent and his pals must have taken him to the break room, he realized.

"How are you feeling?" Catherine asked, leaning forward from her seat beside him. She placed a hand on his forehead, taking his temperature like his mother used to do when he was little.

"Do you have any Tylenol?" Greg asked as a reply, his voice scratchy.

Catherine noticed this. She quickly went to the sink and filled a mug with water. "Nope, sorry," She answered quietly, helping him sit up and draping a jacket over his shoulders, then handing him the mug.

"Thanks," he mumbled, finishing the water in one gulp. "Where's Grissom?" As soon as the question left his mouth he realized that it was a stupid thing to ask. If the night shirt supervisor had been taken like he had, Catherine would have no more of an idea than he did.

Catherine shrugged. "Two guys - Paul and someone else - just came in here a while ago and took him." She replied, taking the mug from him and filling it again.

Greg nodded to his lap, unbelievably tired even though he had just woken up. "So what's been going on?"

Catherine filled him in on what he didn't know, which wasn't really much before insisting that she check if the wounds on his chest were getting infected.

Too tired to argue much, Greg complied, lying back down and letting her remove the remains that was once his favourite shirt. The cuts were appalling, making Greg wonder how he could have even put up with such torture without going insane but the blond CSI told him that it would be best if they left the makeshift bandages off to left them heal faster.

After hearing Catherine say that, and seeing the bruised and torn mess himself, Greg decided to wear Nick's coat zipped up. Having a cold at a time like this would be the last thing he wanted, after all. An argument followed this decision, only stopping when the sound of their semi-quiet voices awoke Nick.

The Texan looked around at his surroundings, obviously somewhat confused before seeing the others and recalling what had happened. "Hey, Greggo," he said groggily when he caught sight of Greg with his jacket zipped to the neck. "How're you feeling?"

Greg gave a slight half shrug then winced slightly. "Like I ate whole porcupine for dinner." He replied after a minute's thought.

Over the next few hours the rest other the team woke up, each asking Greg how he felt when they saw him sitting on the couch. More often than not he had a cup of water in his hands - Catherine had insisted that he keep drinking so that his body could replace that blood he had lost without causing him to become dehydrated. Greg had argued by telling her that if he kept drinking so much he'd end up with too few electrolytes but his statement went unheard.

When Deirdre woke she was furious with Catherine that the older woman hadn't told her that Greg was awake and Sara acted in a similar manner. It had seemed that the only way they had agreed to go to sleep was if Catherine told them if anything happened. Deirdre was the last to get up and they talked quietly for more than an hour until two men that none of them knew by name but Sara knew by sight came in and grabbed the tall brunette.

She didn't resist, just glanced at each one of them briefly as they guided her from the room. Like the rest of them she had realized that at this point, when they didn't know the entire situation and what was going on outside the lab, to fight against their captors was useless.

Eight hours later, Deirdre gently woke Greg up. Grissom had returned now sporting a black eye and multiple bruises. The look on his usually somewhat apathetic face told Greg that something was seriously wrong; the supervisor looked particularly pale.

"What's wrong, Griss?" Warrick finally asked, worry written all over his face.

Grissom sat down glancing at the team before speaking up. "There are 10 people who have taken us and the rest of the lab hostage. Most of them are convicts, charged for multiple murders if I remember correctly. I testified against all of them and they were convicted because of the evidence gathered here."

"I don't remember..." Catherine began, but was interrupted.

"You wouldn't," said Grissom. "They were all tried about a year before you became a CSI."

"Talk about holding a grudge." Greg muttered. No one laughed but he hadn't really expected them to.

"So these people've done this... for revenge?" Deirdre asked, incredulous.

Grissom nodded, his eyes downcast which made Greg suspect there was an 'and' involved.

" What else?" Catherine asked, she had gotten up off of her seat when Grissom came in and was still standing, looking extremely concerned and trying not to pace as she watched him. She scrutinized him for a moment then got him a cup of water. That seemed to be her favourite cure right now.

Grissom accepted the offered mug. He didn't look up as he spoke. "They killed Sara and Hodges."

Captain Jim Brass briskly walked into the Las Vegas Police Department his face grim and his stride furious. The place had been hectic ever since they discovered that ten suspects had taken control of the crime lab about 16 hours ago. All officers were now on duty, the sheriff was talking to the mayor and negotiators and SWAT were being called in. Adding to the chaos; the press was almost breaking the front door down trying to get an interview.

Sitting down at his desk, Brass picked up one of the folders about the hostage situation showing background information on one of the hostages. He dropped the folder, knowing that if he opened it, he would forget that he was pretending he didn't know them and that they were just another set of people he had to find some way to rescue. He ran a nervous hand over his short, thinning hair as he picked up another folder, reading the situation, which little was known about since they couldn't get any footage about it. The only information they had so far was from Caroline.

To her luck, the receptionist was taking a personal call on her cell phone when the suspects entered the crime lab. She had gone outside to avoid the echoing sounds of Bobby's work. The ten suspects hadn't noticed her. Too intent on their goal, Brass guessed.

Caroline hadn't been able to identify anyone because of the masks on their faces but Brass was still hopeful. The intruders would all eventually take their masks off and if any of the officers now stationed around the crime lab could get a glimpse, they would get an idea of what they were dealing with.

Caroline had told them that there were nine males and one female in the group. All of them were tall - with the exception of the woman - and that all had somehow managed to get a hold of various guns. According to the report, Caroline had also mentioned that the one who appeared to be the leader looked vaguely familiar to her somehow and had greying black hair with what looked to be a tattoo at the base of his neck. The databases were being checked for people who matched these vague descriptions but he knew that that wouldn't be much help.

He quickly finished reading the report and decided that he wanted to talk to Caroline himself. After finding out that she was still in the interrogation room, apparently understanding that using the room was just a formality and wanting to help her co-workers as much as possible, he grabbed two mugs of coffee and entered the room.

"Caroline," he began softly, sitting down and placing one of the mugs before her. The blond looked up at him and gave him a quivering smile as thanks. "I know you've already answered questions," Brass continued, "but there are some other things that I want to know."

Caroline nodded, sipping her coffee.

"Did you see how the suspects arrived?" Brass asked, switching on the recorder.

The receptionist nodded again. "They came in two cars, SUVs, parked on the other side of the road. One's grey and the other's metallic blue or green."

"And how exactly did they come in? Did they try to appear inconspicuous or did they just barge into the lab without a care who saw them?"

"They just sort of ran in. The guy at the front was yelling at them to make sure that no one had guns on them. The woman was at the back and she shot an officer who was pulling into the parking lot. They didn't seem to care that he had seen them, they just seemed really mad. One of them had this grin on his face though, like he was some football player about to tackle a guy who stole his girlfriend from him or something."

"And you didn't get to see their faces or notice anything unique about any of them?"

She shook her head. "I already told the sheriff everything I can remember about them."

"Could you tell what types of guns they had with them?"

"The woman had a .22 rifle, at least it looked like a .22. Umm... a few of them had 9mms, I don't know what the others are though." She took another sip of coffee and sniffled.

Brass asked her a few more questions but was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighed; he had made it clear to multiple people that interrogations shouldn't be interrupted. Brass stood up and answered it. On the other side of the door stood one of the newer officers, looking somewhat hesitant.

"There's a woman in your office demanding to see you, Captain Brass." he said. "She says that she's related to Greg Sanders and refuses to leave until she gets answers."

Brass sighed in exasperation. "Can't you get her to talk to someone else?"

The younger man shook his head and told him promptly, "She said that she would speak only to you."

Reluctantly he turned back to Caroline. "Do you mind if we wrap this up later?" He asked her, already stepping back to let her precede him through the door.

"You know where to find me," she said, standing up and leaving.

Frowning, the police captain walked back to his office where which he found a woman who looked so much like the DNA tech that they had to have been fraternal twins. She was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk and drumming her fingers on her crossed legs, looking no less than furious.

"May I help you?" He asked her politely, closing the door behind himself and sitting down.

"If you couldn't than I wouldn't have asked to speak with you." she snapped. She closed her eyes for a moment then took a deep breath, obviously trying to control herself. "My name is Andrea Sanders. My brother - I'm sure you can guess who he is - speaks very highly of you and I trust his opinions, thus I trust that you will answer my questions. I want to know what the hell is going on and what the hell those bastards who took control of your crime lab are doing to my little brother."

This took Brass by surprise slightly. "Little? I thought you would be Greg's twin."

"Okay, he's about five minutes younger than me, whatever." Andrea rolled he eyes. "Just tell me what is going on."

"You do realize that most of the information is classified." Brass leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his desk. "So the details I can give you are sparse -"

"Then it's rather lucky that I'm a lawyer." She snapped in reply, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I know my rights and being Greg's emergency contact, I should have been told about this situation as soon as it occurred instead of having to hear it on the news. This also means that I should be able to find out everything you know about the case."

Brass hesitated over Greg's file, not wanting to open it, but having to check if the information given to him was right. Finally, he did and sure enough, right under the heading 'Emergency Contacts' was Andrea's name, address and home and cell phone numbers.

"You never checked his file?" Andrea was starring at him, incredulous. Then suddenly, she was standing up and yelling at him. "HOW CAN YOU NOT CHECK HIS FILE? I'M ON HIS CONTACTS FOR A REASON AND THAT REASON IS BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO HIM!" She took a breath and Brass took advantage of her temporary silence.

"Ms. Sanders," he said, trying to calm the obviously somewhat distraught woman before him. " Please understand what it's like for this entire department for something like this to happen. We all have friends in the crime lab, we have officers trapped in there in the same position Greg is in. The officers who are watching the lab are currently in an unimaginable amount of danger..."

Andrea sniffled and sat back down. Her worried, anxious anger had apparently been spent. "Of-of course, Captain Brass, I'm sorry. It's just, this really isn't easy for me to realize that I may never see Greg again... " She sniffled again and wiped her eyes brusquely before looking at him again. "May I ask what the situation is?"

Greg felt like he had been punched in the gut and he could tell from the wide eyed looks the others were giving Grissom that everyone else felt the same way. The room was frozen with a shocked and horrified silence before Deirdre finally spoke up.

"Dead?" She repeated the word weakly. Everyone knew that she felt more comfortable with them in eight months than she did with the crime lab she worked with in Eugene, Oregon, for nearly five years. Deirdre was especially close to Sara, almost sisters. She hesitated, then asked, "How?"

"The woman, Kristal. She took them out back and shot them both in the head." Grissom tried to seem reassuring to them, but failed as he added, "They didn't feel a thing."

"God," Warrick muttered, starring at Grissom in undisguised shock and disbelief.

"They're gonna kill all of us, aren't they?" Nick asked suddenly, looking pensive but with watery eyes. "They're here for revenge after all and they know that they'd get the death penalty for this anyway. So why not help out other criminals and get rid of us at the same time?"

His question wasn't answered but it didn't have to be. He had put his finger on the ugly truth and everyone knew it.

They sat in silence for more than two hours, each lost in their own thoughts before the rattling of chains brought them back to the painful nightmare they were in. The door finally opened and Wayne came in with two of his friends, who Grissom could identify as Tyler Affertun and Scott Klirtly.

"I'm sure you've been told what happened to your two colleagues." Wayne told them, a heartless and cruel grin on his face. "You've had long enough to grieve about it and frankly, I'm getting bored."

Tyler, the lankiest of the three, had lime green hair and a scar on one cheek. He grinned and beckoned Warrick forward. The tall CSI hesitated, then stood, glancing around at the rest of the team before following them out of the room. Scott gave Deirdre a lustful look that made her skin crawl, then he quickly followed and locked the door behind them.

The room was again quiet for a while before a snapping noise filled it. Greg looked around and saw Deirdre sitting at her place on a countertop and snapping the finger on her left hand repeatedly. He remembered that she did that when she was nervous or trying to figure something out. Greg had no doubt that he knew what she was trying to come to a conclusion to, but he also was aware that it was a dangerous idea if they wanted to stand any chance of keeping Warrick, at least, alive.

It was Grissom, though who quietly told her that if Wayne or any of his friends heard of this conversation, there would be problems. "Deirdre, we can't force our way out of here, even more so while they have Warrick."

"I know that we can't escape while they've got Warrick." she retorted in a harsh whisper. "But why not while no one's missing? They're going to kill us all anyway, why just stand here like cows in a slaughter house?"

"Because we don't know what Brass or the sheriff are up to." Greg told her, sighing. He really didn't feel like having an argument in the room; it was tense enough without that.

A few minutes later, they could all guess fairly accurately what was being planned as a familiar ringing sounded through the crime lab.

…

Brass looked up as two officers escorted a middle-aged, thin man with dirty blond hair and glasses into his office. He had been going over the other hostages' files for the past two hours, phoning their contacts and explaining the situation and waiting for updates about it himself.

"Captain Brass?" The man inquired, holding out his hand. "I'm Todd Derranes, the negotiator you've been waiting for."

Jim shook the negotiator's hand, standing and nodding his hello before sitting back down. Derranes sat in the chair in front of Brass' desk and listened patiently as the captain filled him in on the small amount they knew, then asked if he could speak with Caroline himself. Derranes spent a half an hour on the phone with the receptionist after receiving her number, read the nightshift's files, then asked Brass to switch patrols around the crime lab so he could talk to the officers who had been watching it for the past day.

In talking to the police officers, some disturbing news came forth: two guns shots were heard from the crime lab about an hour ago. Brass found himself thinking that the eight officers being questioned by the interrogator were very lucky he was watching from behind the one-way mirror. He was furious that this hadn't been radioed in even though he could have done nothing with the knowledge. This meant that two of his colleagues may have been shot and killed.

Forty-five minutes later, they were driving out to the crime lab which had been cordoned off. Reporters were trying to question officers and civilians alike, or making reports for the evening news. The civilians themselves were inquiring what exactly was going on, trying to get a better look at the crime lab from their places behind the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze with a few giving their thoughts to reporters.

"I want the media out of here." Derranes told Brass as an officer opened the barricade for them and they drove through. "And I want vantage points set up around the entire building. When's SWAT getting here?"

"Within an hour," Brass replied, shutting off the engine and climbing out of the vehicle. Members of the press immediately started yelling out questions to him, asking everything from how the hostages were fairing to what he thought of the situation. He ignored them though and loudly asked them to leave the area. They resisted of course but, after nearly a half an hour, the streets around the crime lab were finally free of news reporters.

Less than fifteen minutes after that, SWAT arrived, automatically setting up the vantage points Derranes had asked for with skilled speed. Finally they were in action and ready to help Grissom and everyone else trapped inside.

Stationed on the roof of a building across the street from the lab, Derranes accepted the phone from a member of SWAT and plugged it into the speakers they had set up so that everyone could hear what was being said, then dialed the lab's number. They waited through two rings before someone picked up.

"We're not negotiating." a voice, female and cruel, said before they even had a chance to talk. "But that doesn't mean we won't be nice. I'll tell you what; we'll leave one of them to tell you what happened before they die."

"Miss, please," Derranes said calmly, stretching out on the paved roof. "I understand that I'm probably useless here since people who can figure out how to get into a place like a crime lab can get out when they're done, even with the government's elite around it. But I'm just doing my job, just like you're undoubtedly doing yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The woman snapped.

"It means we know who you are and that you're not just doing this for yourself." he said, sitting up and grabbing a notepad from the ground beside him. Quickly, he scribbled 'run her voice through the database, see if you can come up with a match' on it and handed it to the man beside Brass while listening to the woman's reply.

"Who are you, then?"

" Me? I'm Todd and, miss? I really don't want you to have to die. So if you would please co-operate with us even if you state what you want or why you and your colleagues have done this, I could help you from getting the death sentence."

Her slightly crazed laugh resonated from the phone. "We're not afraid of dying Todd, that's why we did this. Well, that and revenge too."

"Revenge?" Derranes asked. "On whom?"

She laughed again, though this time it was a bit more of a chuckle. "That's up to you to figure out, isn't it?" She asked before hanging up.

…

When Warrick finally returned he could barely stand. Greg had to admit though, that he was surprised Warrick could even manage that. His tormenter obviously hadn't been Brent, since he bore no knife marks but whoever it was didn't need a knife to make his victim suffer. The tall CSI had so many bruises on his body that his skin was more purple and black than it was brown.

Greg had been able to help Warrick sit down on the couch he had been occupying not five minutes ago before Wayne grabbed him by the collar of Nick's still zipped-up jacket making him wince in pain as unexpected pressure was put on his still very sore chest and dragged him from the room.

At first Greg struggled but stopped once he realized what had happened and remembered that struggling would be fruitless. Wayne hauled him into the shop. Though he already knew what was happening, he shuddered when he was pushed through the doors. Once again he was tied to the hydraulic lift. To his horror Brent was there, only this time he was wielding a wrench.

Greg tried not to think of the pain and damage that would do to him and tried not to stare at the metal object in the convict's hand but his eyes found themselves following the wrench's every menacing movement just as his mind told him that Sara and Hodges were lucky.

"Hey Ray, get the old dude." Tyler told a rat-faced man with black eyes to his left. The rat-man grinned demonically before leaving at a trot and returning rather quickly with Grissom.

"Let's see your boo-boos, Lab Rat," Brent said somewhat happily as he approached and Ray and Tyler roughly tied Grissom to a door. Grissom was saying something, but Greg couldn't understand it. Not that he was trying that hard, anyway. The majority of his concentration was Brent's approaching wrench, which the older man was swinging threateningly.

Brent reached forward and unzipped Nick's jacket, revealing the cuts and bruises on Greg's upper body. The convicts grinned and cackled at the bloody sight, making Greg feel sick, wondering how they could think something like that was funny. He inhaled sharply as Brent poked at one of the wounds on his chest.

"Those look painful," Brent told the tech as he continued to probe roughly at the injuries, pretending to have sympathy for him. Then, in such a change of action it would have surprised Greg if he could register what had happened, he slammed the wrench against the younger man's ribs.

The breath exploded from his lungs and his right side felt like a truck had run over it. He could hear Grissom yelling his name as he tried to refill his lungs and finally just succeeded, pain making it unbearably difficult. Before Greg could fully recover from the blow, Brent attacked him again, this time not relenting after just one hit.

Brent beat him mercilessly not appearing to notice as Greg's reactions to the pain became less and less. Wayne finally stopped him, letting Grissom check the young man over, seeming mildly amused and triumphant as he signaled for everyone to get out.

As Tyler freed him from the door Grissom immediately noticed that the hydraulics were the only thing keeping Greg on his feet. He hurried to the tech's side, calling his name and hearing him pant slightly as he neared.

Greg groaned in pain and looked up at the supervisor with slightly unfocused eyes. "Grissom…?" He managed to choke out, and groaned again.

"It's alright Greg." he said, trying to sound reassuring, but even to his own ears he could hear that he had failed miserably. He tried to help Greg to stand upright but stopped when Greg gasped in pain. Instead he tried to comfort him - something that was definitely not his forte - until the convicts returned.

They forced Grissom out of the room as Brent turned his attention back to Greg.

"There's a reason Wayne gave you to me." Brent said, circling Greg and grinning in a way that made the tech's skin crawl. "You're the youngest guy here, easy to manipulate, easy to break…" He smirked and turned Greg's head up to face his, now only inches away. "…And not too bad on the eyes."

Brent walked around him again, drawing a finger against him as he went, giving Greg goose pimples and making him whimper in pain as the anguish in his chest flared. He realized that Brent was just toying with him for now and that he couldn't do anything to stop the convict when he got bored with the games he was playing.

In the end, he did struggle but as he already knew, it was futile and only made things worse.

…

**Don't you just love morbid plot bunnies? I mean, cripes! Even I thought I was being a bit mean! Oh, and by the way, the only way I did that to Sara is 'cause she was bugging me and I don't like Hodges, so I decided to kill him.**

**Anyhoo, read and review, got it? So press the little blue button and tell me what you think.**

**Lots o' love!**

**xCxBxBx**


	3. Day 2 Lie Behind Truths

**Day Two - Lie Behind Truths**

"We have an ID for the woman." Derranes' voice sounded through Brass' cell phone before the police captain had time to say anything. He was back at the station, having been ordered back there by the sheriff, sitting at his desk with a file of the most recent updates on the crime lab situation.

"Who?" He asked, suddenly alert.

"Kristal Meenlar, age 39, spent 15 years at North Vegas Woman's Correctional Centre for murdering her husband and child, released about a year ago," Derranes said as he scribbled the information down. "Now here's the interesting part, Gil Grissom was the lead CSI on her case."

"So someone's got a grudge against our supervising CSI," Brass thought aloud, leaning back against his chair. "Have you checked any other murderers, recently released, with any of the nightshift as lead CSIs?"

"I've got men checking it right now," Derranes told him, then hung up.

Both the area around the crime lab and the PD were both virtually overrun by local and national news reporters by this time and nothing said could make them leave. The nightshift's families, if not already in Vegas, were flying in as soon as possible, insistent that they wanted to be there no matter what happened.

No one had left to go home since the hostage situation had arisen, though many were being encouraged to do so at this point. Brass himself had never even considered it, even with the knowledge that he desperately needed sleep, unless he wanted to fall asleep in the middle of an interview or important phone call.

He did end up falling asleep though, in his desk chair only to be awoken by the shrill ringing on his cell phone. Derranes' people had searched the databases and had turned up with what they wanted. There were 73 ex-convicts who were jailed for major crimes, released within the last year and had either Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Warrick, or Sara leading the investigation. Fourteen were from a correctional facility close to the one Kristal was in and three matched the vague description given to them by Caroline.

Out of those three, one was currently residing in Jacksonville, Florida and another had been put back in prison some two weeks ago. The last, Wayne Rhighter, was unaccounted for. The fact that he had been let out on bail by none other than Kristal six months after her own release only made the fact that they had found the identity of another suspect all the more likely.

"Where is his last known residence?" Brass asked, sitting up properly and taking a gulp of coffee. He nearly spat it out on his desk when he all too quickly realized that it had cooled during his nap.

"We already checked it," Derranes told him in reply. "A family of four lives there now, has for the last month or so. Apparently, Rhighter sold the place independently just a few months after getting out of prison just to throw his probation officer off. Needless to say, it worked."

"Where was it?" Brass repeated. Being sleep deprived as he was, the normal small amount of patience he had was now non-existent: he really didn't want to have to play twenty questions to get the answers he wanted.

Derranes seemed to understand this. "Summerlin."

"Not all that far from here…" Brass snapped from his musings and asked quickly. "Have you been able to get in contact with the suspects again?"

That one time yesterday was the only time - that he knew of - that they had been able to talk to the convicts and he wanted to know of anything that might tell him of how the nightshift was doing.

There was no luck for such an update though, since Derranes told him with an apology that they hadn't been able to talk to the convicts again.

…

Pain…

The pain that burned throughout his body was unimaginable, unthinkable, excruciating, but it was there. His chest and ribs were so sore he could barely draw breath and the burning that flew through his body, inside and out…

It was all he could be from breaking down before his tormenter where he was, laying bruised and bloody and clad only in boxers on the cold, dirty, oil-stained concrete floor of the crime lab's forensics shop. It didn't even seem like the same room he had entered hundreds of times anymore but more and more like the torture chamber that Wayne and his friends were using it as each minute passed.

He heard the doors open and close, hoping that Brent had gotten tired of him and had left. Luck wasn't with him. He was flipped unceremoniously onto his back, making him cry out weakly in pain as white hot bolts of agony flared. He was now facing Brent and yet another of his friends - Graham - both whom were smirking when they heard him. He could just see Wayne standing by the door, arms crossed and wearing a look similar to the two others.

"Is the poor Lab Rat sore?" Wayne asked with false sympathy, now walking forward. He had finally taken his mask off and Greg could see a scar running along his left cheek cutting perilously close to his eye. "It's alright," he added after briefly waiting for a reply he didn't expect to get. "We have something that will make you feel better."

Greg just managed to grab Nick's now ruined jacket - which lay closer to him than his torn and bloody jeans - before his was forced on his feet and pushed from the room.

He stumbled a few times but they made sure he stayed standing as they lead him through the lab and into ballistics. The room had been completely ransacked; the water barrels over-turned and the guns missing from the wall. Tables had been pushed against the far wall leave space in the middle of the room.

In the centre lay Hodges; blood splattered, cold, pale and lifeless, his eyes still open. Greg stared at the body for a few moments wondering how they thought this could make him feel better. Sure, he didn't really like the chem tech, but that didn't mean he wanted to see him like this.

It was then a groan caught his attention. Huddled in a corner on which blood was splattered against an adjacent wall, was a semi-conscious Sara. She was caked with dried blood, a wound on her head which still appeared to be bleeding slightly, black eyes, cuts and bruises. Looking up at him through the pain-glazed eye that wasn't black she mouthed his name, apparently not able to speak aloud.

He tried to rush to her but was held back by Wayne. Greg gasped in pain as the convicts' vice-like grip sent waves of pain up and down his arms.

"Slow down, Lab Rat," the burly man told him menacingly, still holding him tightly and not appearing to notice that Greg's teeth were bared and his eyes had been shut tightly in anguish. "I'm a good person, mostly, so I've decided to make a deal with you, how's that?"

"What's the deal?" Greg whispered in reply, his voice thick and shaking.

"You're lucky, you know," Brent told him, speaking eagerly before Wayne could talk. He seemed to want to see how Greg would react to what he was going to say. "Kristal shot her with a dud so the slug did only a fraction of the damage it should have. She should have ended up like _him_…"Brent nodded to Hodges' body. "Kristal wanted to finish her off when we realized she wasn't dead, but she didn't. Do you want to know why?"

The tech ignored him. "What's you're deal?"

"Answer Brent's question, Lab Rat," Wayne told him, undoubtedly enjoying being able to annoy him so affectively.

"Fine, then, why?"

"Because I convinced her not to." Brent's' voice was now but an ominous whisper as he softly said this into Greg's ear. "You owe me, Lab Rat, more than what you've paid me back so far."

He laughed slightly as he noticed the shudder that made its way through Greg's body and Wayne told finally told him his offer.

"It's really quite simple," he said calmly. "If you can get the whore to the break room, she gets to stay there and your friends can do their best to keep her alive. If you can't get her to the break room, then she gets to stay here. In either case, you get to see Brent but won't you feel better knowing if your friend is relatively safe or not?"

Greg knew that he didn't really have a choice, neither morally nor because of the convicts, so he just nodded his head and giving them a short, "Fine."

Wayne let him go, pushing him forward slightly so that he stumbled and fell onto his knees beside the injured CSI. Pain flared anew but he bit his lower lip and didn't cry out knowing that that was the least important thing they had to worry about at the moment.

" Gr… eg?" Sara whispered weakly, trying to bring her head up and look at him, but not having the strength to do so.

"That's right," he whispered as comfortingly as he could in reply. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder to make sure that she knew he was there but wasn't sure whether he should have been relieved or not when she didn't react in pain. He pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind and asked, "Can you try to stand up? They're letting me get you back to the break room but you have to help me, okay?"

She nodded slightly and he placed her arm over his shoulder, trying to ignore - somewhat in vain - the pain that came from the contact. Somehow, Sara was able to stand up and slowly, he mostly carried her back to the room where their friends were being held.

With a slightly disappointed demeanor, Wayne dialed the combination into the common gym-type lock that held the chains together and doors closed. Greg wanted to beg him to hurry up - he seemed to be trying to be as slow as he could - but didn't. Instead, Greg waited, shaking in exhaustion and hurt as the door was unlocked until he could finally lead Sara inside.

Nick, the only conscious person in the room, watched in silent shock as Greg helped the CSI through the door, until he suddenly got up from his place beside Warrick's unconscious and beaten form and took Sara's dead weight from Greg's arms.

"She's alive," Greg told him quietly, his voice breaking a bit, knowing that he would be going back with Brent. "Sorry that I got your jacket dirty." He inhaled sharply as Wayne grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag him back out and on seeing Catherine's sleeping figure on the floor, leaning against a far side to the couch, added, "Tell Catherine I said 'hi.'"

…

Brass was sitting beside Derranes, reviewing the files he had received from SWAT as the negotiator spoke into a walkie-talkie to one of the SWAT members. Sergeant McKenzie had one of the convicts in his sight and wanted permission to take the man out, then storm the lab before the rest of the hostage-takers knew what was happening. Derranes was telling him not to though, since they didn't know how well equipped 'Kristal's Group', as they were beginning to call them, was and that the risk that their people would end up getting killed was too great.

"I remember working on Wayne Rhighter's case." Brass said, suddenly recalling. Wayne had worked with a man by the name of Tyler Affertun, an old high school friend, to kill his girlfriend, whom he had caught cheating on him. Brass told this to Derranes and radioed to the station to pull out the case and find where Tyler Affertun was currently residing. "Wayne would be the leader of all this. He's the one who would organize and plan everything, if Affertun is really involved."

"If Affertun is involved, then we have a bigger problem than we thought," Sergeant McKenzie told them, handing over a thick file.

The file was Tyler Affertun's, filled with all the charges filed against him since his junior high years. All in all, he had spent most of his life in prison, being only 16 when he helped Rhighter murder the girlfriend. Before the murder, he had committed multiple B&E's and an armed robbery, giving him a total of 18 months in a juvenile detention facility before being accused of the murder case and being locked up until just a few years ago.

The file was mostly useless, considering that his last known residence was back when he was still a minor, though it did yield some interesting information; most of his cases were handled by Grissom. Only the armed robbery was processed by someone else, a CSI by the name of Samuel Clemens who had retired some ten years ago and was now dead. It also mentioned that he and Kristal had exchanged letters for a few months while serving out their prison time, and so did he and Rhighter.

Brass book marked these facts and kept reading. A file from California revealed that Affertun had yet another crime to his name, public indecency. It wasn't as bad as the rest of the crimes that would soon follow and being only 12 at the time of the offense, the police had let him off with little more than a warning, noting that he looked no less than terrified at being brought in. Brass made a mental note that the convict was undoubtedly a good actor, unless he had changed a lot in a short amount of time.

Now 30 hours had passed since the beginning of the hostage situation and Brass was starting to wonder how good Derranes' negotiating skills were, despite the reassurances that he was one of the best and that they were actually making excellent progress. He had been forced to go home by the sheriff but had returned about an hour ago, after four hours of restless sleep. He knew he looked like crap but really didn't care at the moment. The sooner he could help his colleagues trapped in the building, the happier he would be.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone snapped him out of his musings and he pulled it out of his pocket, recognizing the number immediately as that of Nick's mother. He sighed - the woman had been phoning him nearly hourly, which had to have been making a dent in her phone bill, since she was phoning long-distance from Texas - and answered.

"Captain Brass?" Mrs. Stokes voice crackled. Her voice was twisted in worry for her son. "Have you found out -?"

"We don't have anything relevant, Mrs. Stokes," Brass interrupted, trying to keep his own voice even. "I'll _phone you _when we find something."

"But you have found out some things?"

"Yes, we have." Brass read the note that Derranes had passed him and scribbled back _It's just one of the CSIs' families_. "We're busy right now so if you can please stop phoning me, it would be appreciated."

"Oh. Of course, I didn't mean to be a nuisance -" Brass hung up on her before she could finish her sentence, hoping that she would understand and wouldn't be offended.

Derranes watched him calmly as he put the phone back in his pocket, then spoke up. "I'm about to try to phone them again, if you want to listen in."

As a reply, the police captain stood up and followed him to the tent where SWAT had set up the phone, speakers and recording equipment. Derranes pressed the redial button and everyone in the tent stayed silent, all hoping that the convicts would finally pick up.

One ring…

Two rings…

Three rings…

"You're just not going to stop phoning are you?" Kristal asked from the other side, her voice showing annoyance, like a frog unable to catch a fly. "You're just going to keep going and going until you get what you want, or you find out they're dead." Her voice dripped with bitter humor. "Then, of course, if they're dead, what's going to keep you from breaking in here and killing us?"

Derranes ignored her somewhat insane rant. "Why are you holding everyone there hostage if you only want revenge on Mr. Grissom?"

The convict laughed. "Quick thinkers, aren't you? Well, figure that one out yourselves and then maybe I'll reward you and answer your next question."

"Alright, then." Derranes left the tent and lay down outside again. "Why keep them all? If you use them as ways to torment Mr. Grissom psychologically," he tried to reason with her, "why not just keep those closest to him?"

"Ooh, you are a smart fish. Because Grissom -" Kristal nearly spat the name out "- is one of those people who are natural leaders who care about everyone, and puts their well-being before his, at any cost. Beside, there are more people to use as target practice that way."

Hearing her words and the carelessness tone in her voice, Brass felt sick. How could someone think so little of human life? To call it a game, 'target practice'? The negotiator, though, seemed unfazed by her words.

"So that was why we heard two shots yesterday? Because you were practicing your shooting?"

"That's up to you to find out, isn't it, Todd?" She asked before the line went dead.

Derranes shook his head as he handed the phone to McKenzie and stood up. "I want back up," he told the SWAT sergeant. "She's insane. If we don't get in there soon, we won't have anyone to save."

…

Catherine hid her worry, trying to convince herself that it would all work out fine as she nodded her head to Warrick's question. "Lindsey's fine. She's finally starting to listen, take things a bit more seriously, you know."

Warrick and Nick both nodded. "That's good," Nick said. "It's not gonna be long before she starts driving, after all."

"You should take a night off once in a while," Deirdre said thoughtfully, twirling her hair around a finger and fidgeting. She was worse than Greg when it came to keeping thoughts and secrets to herself, when they were on her mind. "My parents never did and look where I am now. We live on opposite sides of the country."

"Take her on a vacation," Grissom added. "You have enough time on your name."

The small talk was difficult for all of them but it at least kept their minds off the dilemma they were in. Grissom and Deirdre had returned about two hours ago, saying that Jacqui was dead and had found - arguably - an even worse surprise waiting for them.

It was obvious that Sara had a fractured skull and hemorrhaging in her brain and they were certain she had a concussion too. They didn't know what to do to help her though, but knew enough to try to keep the brunette relaxed, hydrated, and resting as much as possible. She had been sleeping on and off for the last while, but was worryingly pale and clammy.

And then there was the fact that no one had heard from the other DNA tech since he had came in, handing Sara to Nick and asking him to tell Catherine he had said 'hi' - which the Texan had. They were all worried for Greg, Grissom being the most visibly agitated of all, a surprise from his usual somewhat apathetic demeanor. That's what had lead them to the small talk, which had ranged from Lindsey to a new restaurant in downtown Vegas to bugs.

"Where would I take her, though?" Catherine asked.

"Have you ever been up north?" Warrick got up from his seat on the floor, wincing slightly. He switched the TV on, all of them watching and hopeful, though none of them really expecting anything other than the static that did indeed appear. They had been checking it for the last day, hoping to find out anything about what was going on outside. Wayne or one of his people must have cut the cable line, though.

Catherine shook her head; she had never been outside of Nevada.

"You should go -" Warrick began to explain to her how great it was, but Deirdre interrupted him.

"Forget north," she told the older woman. "There's this great group of islands about a couple thousand miles from here called Hawaii. Go there, trust me. The snorkeling is perfect and the Big Island is about the only place in the world that you can go play in the snow and then go swimming in a 70 degree ocean the same day."

"I'll take it you like it there?" Grissom asked mildly.

"Uhh… Yeah." She looked over at Catherine, who was feeling Sara's forehead for what must have been the fifth time that hour. "You really should go, it's -" She was interrupted by the rattling of the chains on the door.

"Please let it be Greg," she heard Nick mutter, standing up from him place on the floor and stepping towards the door. The DNA tech wasn't even sure whether or not he had meant to say it, but she greatly agreed with him.

The door swung open and, sure enough, the rat-faced Ray half-dragged Greg into the room, throwing him towards the Texan. The CSI-tech looked worse than ever and gasped weakly in pain as Nick caught him. This caused Ray, Brent and the only other convict they didn't know by name to sneer slightly as they heard him.

She tried to check on him like she had last time but Warrick held her back as Grissom and Catherine checked Greg over themselves. "Don't crowd him, Dee," Warrick muttered to her, still holding on to her right arm just tight enough to keep her from shaking him off. "Besides, what can you do that Griss or Catherine can't?"

Deirdre didn't reply, only hopped back up on her space beside the tall CSI on the counter with a defeated sigh. She knew that Warrick meant well, but also knew that he didn't know why she had to be by the other tech so badly - not that she really wanted him to anyway.

Seeing the worried expression on her face, Warrick put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave her a slight smile. "It'll be okay," he assured her. "Brass, for one, will make sure of that."

…

**Well, there you go. A bit shorter than the first two - about 700 words shorter than the last chapter and 100 words shorter than the first chapter, to be exact - but that's not important. The important part is: you gotta feel sorry for Greggy. Okay, and Sara, too, but I like Greg more than I do her, so you have to feel sorry for Greg more. Besides, she was unconscious a lot, so she's not really in pain for long amounts of time, and really, someone just beat the crap out of Greg with a wrench. If you tell me that doesn't hurt, I'll call you mentally deranged.**

**Anyway, I'm done ranting - until I come out wit the next chapter, of course. Read and review! **

**Huggies,**

**xCxBxBx**


	4. Day 3 Counting Down

Day Three - Counting Down

"Okay, so a doctor, a lawyer, a judge and construction worker all walk into a bar," Deirdre said, without any real emotion in her voice. As scared as she was for herself and for all the others, she, like everyone else in the room, were getting tired of being taken with almost no notice and no knowledge if they were coming back to the break room or not. Besides, she was hungry and her energy was drained. "The bartender looks up in surprise and asks 'what is this, some type of joke?'"

"Ha ha," Nick told her glancing over at Greg, whom they had wrapped in a spare lab coat they had found and was asleep - but not unconscious - on the floor by the coffee table.

Catherine spoke up next as she stood up and got a mug of water for Sara, who was still drifting in and out of consciousness. "This guy's driving in the country, getting back to the city, when his car breaks down. "They heard Sara whisper a feeble 'thanks' before the older CSI continued, though still making sure that Sara wouldn't drop the cup. "He walks to the nearest house, borrows the farmer's phone and calls a tow truck. The only problem is, the tow trunk can't pick him up until the next day. Now this farmer is dead ugly but nice, so he tells this guy 'you can stay here for the night, but I'm warning you, if you lay a hand on my daughter I'll use the three worst Chinese tortures on you'. Well, the city guy gives the farmer this sort of smile and thinks 'oh, yeah, sure, if his daughter is even half as ugly as him, I'd have to be drunk to touch her'. Then he sees the farmer's daughter and, well, he thinks she's hot.

That night, the guy knocks up the farmer's daughter and then sneaks back into his own room, sure that the farmer won't know what he's done. He wakes up the next morning with this big rock on his chest. He laughs, thinking if this is one of the Chinese tortures, then there's really going to be nothing wrong and throws the rock out the window. As he throws it, he sees a note on the window sill that says 'your left testicle has been tied to that rock'. Well, he panics and jumps out the window after the rock. Then he sees another note written up against the side of the house. It says 'your other testicle has been tied to the bed post.'"

Warrick and Nick both groaned as Catherine finished the joke and Deirdre erupted into giggles. Sara smiled a bit, but Grissom just gave Catherine a look, shaking his head slightly.

Catherine raised her eyebrows at him in reply and said, "Alright then, Grissom, you tell a joke."

The supervisor seemed to think for a minute, before speaking up, a sly smile that none of them had seen before pasted on his face. "Alright. A guy goes to a pet store to buy his daughter a parrot for her birthday. She's been bugging him for a parrot for years and since he and his wife had divorced, he decides to give her something special.

So he gets the bird home, names it Polly and tries to get it to learn how to say 'hello'. The bird just looks at him, though, and says 'fuck you'" - the CSIs all looked at Grissom in surprise - "so he tells the bird 'no, hello' and the bird says 'fuck you'. The guys frowns at the bird and tells him 'you're a present for my daughter and you can't swear at her, so if you say that one more time, I'm sticking you in the freezer' and the bird says 'fuck you'. So, the guy, as promised, stuffs the bird in the freezer and sits on in front of the TV.

Well, he falls asleep and wakes up the next morning. He checks his watch and shouts 'oh, crap, I'm late for work!' He's almost out the door when he realizes that the parrot's still in the freezer, so he opens the freezer door grabs the bird, pulls it out and is about to leave when the parrot yells out 'wait!' He turns around and the bird says 'I'll - I'll say anything you want, I promise, I won't be mean to your daughter, I'll do anything. I just have one question'. The parrot looks up at him and asks 'what did the chicken do to make you so mad?'"

"Wow, Grissom telling a joke - and swearing." Deirdre said finally, wiping tears of laughter out of her eyes. "That was probably the best part of the joke, you know. Okay, 'Ricky, your turn."

Just as Warrick started to talk, though, the phone rang out through the crime lab for what must have been the sixth time that day.

"You've reached the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're sorry but we can't take your call at this time…" Deirdre said, rolling her eyes and mimicking the answering machine as the phone stopped ringing and it kicked in. "How long is it gonna take Brass to realize that they don't feel like talking?"

"I just wonder what they want to talk about so badly," Grissom said, seeming to be thinking aloud.

…

50 hours. The nightshift had been held hostage for the last 50 hours. How many of them were still alive? How badly were they injured? How many would be able to recover from their injuries? How many would realize that the danger of being criminalists, no matter how remote it truly was, was too much for them? These unanswered questions ran through Brass' head as he half listened to Derranes explain details to the sheriff and mayor. It would take 10 more potentially deadly hours to bring in more SWAT members and prepare to force entry into the crime lab. Then, of course, they would have to wait even longer to find the safest time for both hostages and SWAT.

"Are you sure that we can't do anything before the extra SWAT get here?" Brass asked Derranes as the negotiator made his way once again to the communications tent. Over the last six hours, they had been trying to get a hold of the convicts, to try to get them to surrender peacefully. So far though, all their calls had been ignored.

"The most we can do is try to get them to give up the most severely injured hostages," Derranes answered, pressing the redial button on the phone and sighing as the answering machine kicked in. "Kristal, Wayne, pick up the phone. We have to talk. Just pick up the phone and hear me out, for everyone's safety. You won't have to die like this -"

"Okay, shut up," a voice crackled through the phone's ear-piece and the speakers that were connected. The voice was male, which was surprising, and unknown. The SWAT listening to the conversation automatically began trying to trace the voice. "This is about the 20th time you've called in the last five hours, but you don't seem to get it, even though Kristal's explained it to you. We don't care about dying, and we don't care if you die, 'cause it's your fault we have to do this to begin with. You people have to be taught a lesson; that nothing can happen without causing a reaction. Well, here's you a reaction, and I hope that you don't live to be able to deal with the rest of the consequences." Then before Derranes could say anything, the line went dead.

The negotiator sighed and pressed the redial button again only to receive the answering machine's automated reply. He tried two more times until a different male answered.

"There's nothing to say, so stop phoning us." the man said, and Brass recognized this voice. He grabbed a notepad and wrote out 'That's Wayne Rhighter', then handed it to Derranes, who quickly read the note and nodded.

"Wayne," Derranes began, before the convict could hang up. "I understand that you want nothing to do with us, but we can find some way to make a peaceful ending out of this mess. Surely you and your colleagues don't actually want to die?"

"If we cared about if we died or not," Wayne said shortly, "we wouldn't have done this."

"That doesn't answer my question, though."

"Well that's just too bad for you, now tell me what you want to talk about so badly or let us kill the hostages without distractions."

"Let a few people go in and see the hostages, to see how they're fairing."

Wayne snorted in laughter. "There's only one thing about your great plan. The people who come into this building aren't coming back out."

Brass grabbed the notepad again, but, before he truly knew what was happening, Derranes was ripping it from his hands and underlining the bold note YOU'RE NOT GOING IN. As he threw the notepad back at Brass, he asked, "Why can't they come back out? You already have a dozen hostages, anymore would just make it more difficult for you."

"Kristal said that she thought you were a 'smart fish', too. Use your brain, Todd, and figure it out."

Taking the phone away from his mouth, he sighed in frustration before bringing it back up and saying, "You could just wear your masks to keep us from learning who you are, if that's what you're worried about." He paused, thinking. "But that's not it, is it? You don't care whether or not our people come back out; Kristal just wants more targets."

"You think that Kristal's in control of all this?" Wayne burst out, obviously unable to control himself.

"She seems to be making all the decisions," Derranes told him mildly, his frustration not showing in his voice.

The convict scoffed. "If she was making the decisions, everyone, your friends included, would be dead by now."

"You two are close friends, though, introduced through Tyler. Why wouldn't you do something nice for her?" The answer was rhetorical, almost even as an afterthought, as the negotiator started scribbling on a notepad in quick hand. "But why are you doing this so publicly? You could have a much easier time picking off everyone in that building one by one, without the stress of being surrounded by police officers."

"Because, Todd, every one of us may be killers, may have stolen, but that doesn't mean we're cruel people. We have reasons for doing what we do, and we know that big, important lawmen like the CSIs here spend more time with their co-workers than they do their families - if they even have a family. We figured that we would show we're nice and let them have their last moments together, together."

"Now." The convict's tone of voice changed so much it was startling to Brass, though Derrranes seemed unfazed. "When is your back-up coming? You can't expect me to actually believe that you would wait like this while my friends and I have your precious criminalists in this building, after all."

The middle-aged man smirked slightly as he replied, 'That's up to you to find out, isn't it?' and hung up.

Brass didn't comment, only watched him as he absently handed the phone to a SWAT man and left the tent, reading what he had written and obviously thinking hard. He flipped the page and took a pencil out of his back pocket, then began writing again, muttering to himself. Brass didn't ask what he was saying; Derranes had done this a number of times before and the police captain knew better than to interrupt his musings.

"How much do you know about the crime lab?" Derranes asked him suddenly, looking up at him from his notepad.

He shrugged. "More than half the people that work there." For a second, Brass was about to ask why, but then didn't. It seemed obvious that Derranes was going to take up Wayne's offer of sending people into the lab.

"And you know the situation from an exterior view, the suspects and victims…" The police captain waited patiently until the negotiator spoke up again. "How would you like to take a walk into the Las Vegas crime lab with an EMT and SWAT member beside you?"

Brass' reply was predictable. He was quickly joined by none other than Sergeant Mackenzie and an EMT who had volunteered to come along after over-hearing their plans. They were quickly briefed on what to do and say to both the captors and captives and were reminded of what had happened up until that time.

Finished, they prepared to cross through the no-man zone that had been established around the crime lab, but were stopped by Derranes. He wanted to tell the convicts that they were taking them up on their 'offer' so they wouldn't be surprised and open fire, and if they would let even one hostage out.

He sighed as Caroline's recorded voice answered and began talking as that annoying beep sounded. "We've decided to take you up on your offer, Wayne, so pick up and we can sort out the details and -"

"What details are there?" Wayne asked, picking up the other line.

"There are three men willing to go into the crime lab. That's three more hostages for you, so I want one hostage out in return. You do remind me constantly that you are nice people, after all."

"You know what, Todd? Alright, but we're choosing who and the three men you've got are coming in first."

"My men aren't going in the building until we see the hostage, alive."

"Alright." Wayne said again before the line went dead.

No more than minutes later, the sight of a dead-looking Sara nearly made Brass physically ill as two masked convicts threw her down on the pavement in front of the lab. Her hair was a bloody mess, and bruises decorated her body. He watched as two EMTs loaded the female CSI up on a gurney and rolled her into a waiting ambulance, then, with a nod from Derranes and accompanied by McKenzie and the EMT by the name of Sheryl, he headed towards the awaiting masked figures.

The shorter of the two masked figures cackled when he saw him, and expertly patted him down. Finding nothing, he frisked Sheryl as his buddy checked McKenzie. They told them to keep their heads down - adding the infamous 'or else' at the end, none the less - and led them into the break room. Only Greg and Warrick were there, definitely looking worse for wear. Both were obviously surprised at seeing Brass walk into the room, followed by someone wearing a jacket with 'SWAT' on the back and an EMT carrying a first-aid kit.

"What - what are you doing here?" Greg asked, his voice slightly hoarse, not appearing to notice as the police captain stared at both CSIs in surprise and horrified shock.

"We've been able to make a deal with the convicts here and get one of your people, Ms. Sidle, out," McKenzie answered for him.

"Don't you think you were kinda ripped off?" Warrick questioned, a bitter smile on his face.

Brass shrugged as Sheryl began to check Greg over. "At least she's gotten to the hospital; what did they do to her?"

"Shot her with a dud." Greg's sentence ended with a hiss of pain as Sheryl found that he had a broken wrist. She carefully put it in a splint, knowing full well that it would probably be useless to put it in a cast while he was still being held hostage.

They filled the three newcomers in over the next hour and received the best news they thought they would ever hear in reply; SWAT was going to force entry into the lab in about 8 hours. Sheryl found the extent of both CSIs' injuries and treated them as well as she could, given the circumstances. Ironically, both were slightly dehydrated.

Not long after that, Paul and Scott unlocked the door and threw a bloody rag-doll version of Catherine into the room. Brass carefully lead her to the couch that both younger CSIs had abandoned for her and she was given some Advil from Sheryl's first-aid kit to take the edge off her pain.

At five hours to go, Grissom and Nick entered the break room, the older CSI supporting the younger as he limped into the room. They immediately asked where Sara was and were both visibly relieved by the answer, as if they were happy about how she had gotten out. Nick, too, got an Advil from Sheryl.

At only three hours to go, they threw a crying and somewhat distraught Deirdre into the room, then took Warrick. The dark CSI glanced down at Deirdre, obviously wanting to know what was wrong and to comfort her, but in the end left without the convicts using force to make him.

Greg was at Deirdre's side before even Brass, and asking what had happened as he helped her as best he could with a splinted wrist and bruised ribs to sit down against a cupboard door. Everyone's eyes were on the two techs, but Deirdre at least seemed oblivious as she sobbed into Greg's shoulder.

She cried herself to sleep, but awoke with a start not even an hour later by the same rattling of the door she had heard countless of times before. Wayne came in with Graham and Brent, all three grinning boldly as they grabbed McKenzie. Being the last one to leave the room, Brent gave Greg the same grin that Tyler had given Deirdre, making the tech shiver and look away . He hoped that what Deirdre had said before was still true; that she wouldn't be having too many nightmares. They both didn't need to be startled night after night out of sleep as he knew he would.

Greg sighed and stood up, stretching his back slightly before grabbing two mugs and getting himself and Deirdre some water, hoping that they would bring Warrick and McKenzie back into the break room before SWAT forced entry into the lab. The room was silent, since there was nothing to say or discussed that hadn't been spoken of at least half a dozen times before.

"How long?" Grissom asked Brass suddenly. The police captain was the only one with a working watch, all the CSIs' watches having been broken or taken.

"Two more hours," Brass said quietly. The convicts knowing when the extra SWAT teams arrived was one of the last things anyone wanted them to know.

"Do you -?" Deirdre began after accepting the water from Greg with a thanks. She was interrupted, though, by a loud resounding blast - the unmistakable sound of a rifle going off. Catherine, who had also fallen asleep but who didn't wake up when Wayne and his pals had opened the door, woke with a start and would have fallen off the couch if Grissom hadn't reached out and saved her from that fate. The nearly full mug Deirdre was holding fell to the floor with a crash as it slipped from her numb fingers, but no one noticed as it exploded on the tile, water splattering all over the cupboards and floor.

They all watched the door expectantly, hopeful but, at the same time, fearful of what they would find if the door was opened. Everyone wanted for both McKenzie and Warrick to enter the room, no worse than how they had been when they left or for a SWAT team to force it open and bring them all out of the hell that had once been, to most of them, a work place.

The last thing they expected, even now, was an explosion from the garage that rocked the building and caused dust to fall from the roof. Gunfire erupted from out in the halls deafening them all.

Brass was the only one grinning and when Catherine gave him a look and asked at a yell what was so funny, the police captain just tapped his watch.

The count down to the end of their personal hell was over…

…

And there you guys have it: another chapter. Sorry it took this long to get out, but I won't go into detail… Unless you want me to. Would you like me to?

Nah, I'm just joking. Don't forget to review, though, or this story might end up like my other story, and that would be really not a good thing right now 'cause I'm just that close to being finished. Plus, then you guys finally get answers to your reviews. Normally, I would answer at the end of each chapter, but in this story, I didn't. Don't asked me why…

Dutch kisses, and Happy Birthday to my Opa,

xCxBxBx


	5. Hour 60 Rescued

**Disclaimer: Never listen to Jiminy Cricket; he lies. I believed him and spent the last six months or so wishing on stars to own CSI, but it's yet to work.**

**Many, many, many thank yous to my wonderful and awe inspiring beta Stormchilde, who patiently - I think - replied to my near illiterate e-mails, rants, maddening questions and translated what I thought was English so that all my readers could understand it.**

**Hour Sixty - Rescued**

It seemed like forever before the floor stopped shaking, the roof ceased throwing dust into the air and the resounding boom ended leaving everyone's ears ringing. Deirdre looked around as Greg's grip on her waist weakened and, after seeing that everyone was all right, she checked the ruined room more thoroughly. Everything was, predictably, shrouded in the same thick layer of dust that had covered them as it fell from the ceiling. The door was still whole but the windows that formed the one wall were all smashed, giving them a clear escape should they try.

It wasn't until then that she noticed Tyler. He had been standing right beside the glass walls when the SWAT team did whatever they had done; now he was out cold and bleeding heavily, obviously in no condition to stop them if they tried to leave.

Deirdre hesitated only for a moment before standing up, wincing a bit as she did so. She only half heard Grissom's warning about watching where she was stepping as she began to make her way across the room.

The tech had nearly crossed the room to check the halls before Brass stopped her. "We should wait for the SWAT teams to come and get us." he said quietly but firmly, holding onto her holding her upper arm to keep her from walking away and ignoring him. His grip tightened slightly as she tried to wrench the mentioned limb away from him in an attempt to do just that. "The convicts are still dangerous and you're in no condition to get your revenge against any of them." He cautioned. Noticing that she had stopped struggling, he loosened his grip on her arm.

Deirdre quickly jerked away from him. "Have you ever noticed that I don't often do what I should?" She demanded as way of reply, her own voice furious but as quiet as his. "We're suddenly handed the little golden key out of Hell and you don't expect me to want to get out? To be safe?" She glanced around at the others; at the weak and bruised Greg, at Grissom's two black eyes and split lip, at Nick, who was only partially conscious and at Catherine, whose wounds had re-opened and were beginning to bleed sluggishly once again. Deirdre's eyes were sparkling fiercely and she was obviously trying not to yell at the man. "Look at us, Brass. After all this, don't you dare expect us to hang around here like a bunch of cows until SWAT comes and rescues us."

"I'm just saying Deirdre; the convicts still have Warrick and McKenzie -"

"I'm with Deirdre on this." It was Catherine who had interrupted the police captain, her demeanor much calmer than the tech's. "We have to come to terms with this. We all heard the gunshots. Warrick and McKenzie are probably already dead and if they're not, they're just as safe as we are right now."

Greg and Nick both nodded soberly. Grissom hesitated then he too showed his acceptance of the blonde's words. Sheryl didn't do anything but Brass could tell that she also agreed with what had been said.

It was time to admit the truth. "What can I say, then? You're right." Brass sighed and shrugged his shoulders as he spoke.

" 'Bout damn time you said that." With those words, Deirdre cautiously picked her way through the mess of a room - something that was extremely hazardous with bare feet - and helped Greg to stand up. Grissom did the same for Nick and it wasn't long before Brass was checking the hall to see if the coast was clear.

The group slowly made their way through the halls, Brass took the lead and Sheryl the rear, checking each corner they went around and each room they passed for any sign of the convicts. By the time they saw Kristal lounging in Grissom's ruined office, she had a .22 hunting rifle aimed at them.

"You're not planning on leaving, are you?" She asked innocently, a huge grin on her face as she cocked the weapon. She looked like a child who had been told that Christmas had come early. "It is rude to walk out on guests. Haven't your mothers ever told you that?"

None of them answered her, all watching the rifle barrel with apprehensive looks on their faces. Deirdre, though weary of the convict, was also obviously sick of being played around with. And so, in a huge act of defiance - or stupidity - she brought up her hand where the female convict could see it and gestured rudely at her.

Kristal laughed brightly upon seeing this, something that they weren't really too surprised to hear. "My, my, you weren't brought up in some delinquent home, were you? Was your mother a whore or something? Your

father a drug dealer, with the same manners you have? Come on in and I'll teach you a few niceties."

The convict aimed her weapon at the tech, showing to them that her invitation was really an order. "Come on in," she added when they all hesitated. "I don't bite too much."

"You're right," the female tech snarled at her, her violent temper and easily provoked temper getting the better of her, leaving no room of fear - or any common sense, "you just shoot and kill people for fun."

"Would you like me to shoot that mouth of yours off? You wouldn't be able to insult people so much that way, at the very least."

"Don't you dare touch her." Greg said quickly, not daring to think about Deirdre dying as a result of this. He may not have been able to actually protect her in the state he was in, but he would still defend her.

Kristal smirked at the tech. "Like her, do you? Love her, perhaps? How much would it hurt you -"

"What is the point of this, Kristal?" Grissom, forever the scientist, finally asked. "The SWAT teams are in the lab and it won't be long

until they find us all here in this room. Why keep us here like this, when your games have been played?"

"Because it's fun to see you all squirm and quiver and wonder who's going to die first. Speaking of which, SWAT is coming soon, so I should kill you all now. It'll be easier for the rest of the thieves and murderers in Vegas to make a bigger Hell of this place, you see - something that I've always tried to help. Now…" she scrutinized them all closely. "Who should I kill first?"

Kristal's eyes fell on Brass and the aim of the rifle drifted from Deirdre to him. "How about you? I never liked you much, anyway."

The police captain looked at her squarely, his eyes betraying no fear. "Go ahead then." he told her, nodding his head in assent.

A sick grin spread across the convict's face was she took aim. "Oh, goody."

Following these words, another Earth shattering blast split through the room temporarily deafening all of its occupants. They instinctively closed their eyes to protect them against the sudden bright light that came from the weapons muzzle and all flinched when they felt warm blood splash against them, then slowly drip to the linoleum flooring.

When they opened their eyes once again, they immediately found Brass, lying in a steadily growing pool of blood. More thanhalf his head had been reduced to a mess of blood and tissue, something that made all their stomachs - save Kristal's - roll. Cast off from the wound had sprayed all over the office and their bodies, covering everything within ten feet of the police captain's corpse with crimson blood.

Catherine was the first to find her senses again. She slowly found the criminal, her mind filled with a sort of numb shock. "Bitch," she said softly, her puffy cheek only increasing the hard look in her eyes. Her words brought everyone back from the horrible happening that had taken place before them.

Kristal chose to ignore the blonde CSI's words. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Who would like to die next?" Her grinning face studied each of their bruised, dirty ones.

"You're twisted, you know that?" Nick told her, shocked and in disbelief, just like everyone else in the room. "You're just sick. You kill people, and talk about it like it's some game -!"

She turned her rifle towards Nick, shutting him up effectively. "Does that mean you would like to die next?" She waited for an answer, but didn't get one. "Well? Where's my answer? It's really not that difficult a question. You either say 'yes, Kristal, you've screwed up my pitiful little law-abiding life so much I don't want to live it anymore' or you say 'no thank you, Kristal, I'd rather see more of my friends die before you kill -"

"Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head."

Kristal had been so focused on killing them and they had been so intent on her and her weapon, that none of them realized that the SWAT teams had surrounded the office, their automatic guns pointed at the convict.

She looked up at the heavily-armored man who had spoken, the bright look, which had disappeared while she was speaking to Nick, was plastered once again on her face. "Alright." she said in a childish way, watching the man as she let the rifle drift towards Grissom.

Kristal pulled the trigger of her weapon seconds before SWAT did. Their rounds killed the woman instantly.

This time, though, Deirdre, Greg, Catherine and Nick were nearly deaf to the gunfire, as they were to the men that were now brushing past them to check on the woman they had just shot or trying to get them to leave the blood-stained room.

It was only Sheryl's own, somewhat familiar voice that brought them back to reality this time; back to the horrible, gruesome reality that wasn't over fast enough. Not for Brass, or Grissom and, for all they knew, not for Warrick either. "You guys?" Her voice was shaking, as was she, showing her obvious fear and remorse. "They're right, let's get out of here. There's nothing we can do, anyway."

Numbly, the criminalists let themselves be lead away from the scene that would be forever imprinted in their brains. All but Catherine, who stared, frozen, at Kristal Meenlar's final act of revenge against the crime lab that had caused her to go to prison some two years ago.

"She's right, ma'am." a SWAT corporal said, a hand on the blonde's shoulder, trying to seem comforting but at the same time attempting to lead her out of the office. Finally, tears slowly forming in her eyes as the actions of the late convict began to sink in; Catherine let the dark-clad man guide her outside where the others already were.

It was just a normal summer day outside though the bright, cheerful light was wasted on the dazed and shaken former-hostages. Ambulances, emergency lights lit up but without the sirens, pulled up as the remaining SWAT teams still in the building gave the 'all clear'. The EMTs jumped from the vehicles and split the friends into two groups, leading them back to the ambulances.

One thing that cheered Greg and Deirdre up as they and Nick were lead forward was the sight of Warrick - still walking and looking no worse than he had when he was taken - being escorted out of the damaged crime lab.

…

A rapping at the monotonously white hospital door made Greg look up from the book he was reading. Deirdre, dressed plainly in jeans and a too big t-shirt, stood at the door, an unhappy smile on her face. Her features were worn, her eyes sad. It gave her a slightly haunted look but he was happy to see her nonetheless.

He knew that she had gone back to work only a few days ago, opting to forego the medical leave that Ecklie would have forced upon her had they not needed help so desperately. As far as Greg had heard from Warrick and Nick, the assistant director had finally given in after a half-hour long argument and had set her under Mia's supervision to help organize the still damaged, extremely backed-up crime lab with it's now mostly compromised evidence. The bags that were already beginning to form under her eyes showed how hard she was working even though both doctors and co-workers were advising her to take it easy.

He sighed and smiled back at her. "Hey," he said in greeting as she walked in and flopped down on the chair beside his bed. "Still that busy?"

Deirdre gave him a dull smirk before answering, "uh… Yeah." Pulling her curls from their confining hair tie, she continued. "Catherine took Lindsay out of school as soon as she got out and - being human and ignoring Ecklie- took two weeks vacation time. She booked a first-class flight for two to Hawaii, got a room in some five star hotel, rented a convertible and left. She told me that she was planning to take Lindsay on a road trip north next year." She sighed. "It's good for her to take some time off for her daughter and all that, and I understand where she's coming from, but why she had to go now, I'll never know."

He snorted lightly in laughter. "So Warrick's in charge then? Nick mentioned that yesterday when he came by."

"Yup, he's kinda jealous about it, though. But he shouldn't be; I heard Ecklie talking about him and he said something about making Nick swing shift supervisor."

"That's good, he deserves it. How's Sara doing?"

"Better," the other tech answered, shrugging a shoulder. "I talked to some of the doctors and they keep going on about how lucky she is, but I keep telling them it's because of her hard head. I don't think I've ever met anyone as stubborn as her."

"I have." Greg told her, and raised his eyebrows when she asked him who.

They were both knew they were forcing the small talk, but it was something they couldn't really help - anything to avoid talking about the reason why Warrick was covering as graveyard supervisor for Catherine, why Catherine had made the sudden decision to take her daughter on such an expensive vacation, why Warrick was going to go on his own vacation with his wife almost as soon as Catherine got back…

It was worth it.

Evidently though, Deirdre - being the normal, tactless Deirdre - felt that they had to talk about it. "Brass' memorial service - it's going to be in two weeks." She told him after a pause in their pointless conversation. "You should be out by then, right?"

Greg nodded, then hesitated before asking, "and umm… What about Grissom's?"

It was best to get it over with, now that they were on the topic.

"His mom wants to wait until everyone's here, to make sure we can all be there." She suddenly found the window by his bed every interesting, even if it only showed the hospital's parking lot.

"That's nice of her," he said, but even as he did so he could hear his voice beginning to crack. It was amazing; even a week later, the fact that four of his co-workers - four people that he was incredibly close with - were dead still shocked him slightly. It was something that was taking a long time to sink in.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" The other tech said suddenly, in a quiet and sober voice that was most unlike the voice she usually spoke in.

Greg nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

…

All the memorials, all the eulogies, all the trying not to cry and comforting Dierdre when she did was over. The trials for the three convicts - Brent, Tyler and Ray - who didn't get killed in the slight skirmish that happened when SWAT had gotten into the crime lab were done with, too. The trials were surprisingly short and all three had, predictably, gotten the needle.

For once, though, Greg wasn't thinking about the ordeal that had changed his life drastically.

He was looking a few inches down at Deirdre, who was standing before him, the euphoric smile on her face matched almost perfectly by his own. He took her hand in his own and resisted the need to tell her she was beautiful.

She had obviously spent a great deal of effort on taming her wild hair, and it showed. It was only partially tied back; a few strands were framing her face, adding perfectly to the modest amount of make-up on it. Her dress was just a dress - which was slightly unusual for the occasion - but Greg didn't have the slightest problem with it. It was forest green silk, fitting her so wonderfully that he could have sworn that it had been custom made for her, had he not known better. The garment had been chosen with Sara's help to go with the colour of her hair, eyes and skin, he knew.

The total result of the two women's effort was… stunning.

He was so entranced with the beauty before him that he barely noticed the final words of the white-clad man standing, book in hand, before him and his true love.

"You may now kiss the bride."

THE END

**Final Author's Note: Now, I'm not one for corny Hollywood endings, but I couldn't help myself here. I also can't help but saying "THAT'S SO CUTE!" even though I'm not one for that sappy romance crap you see all too often in movies these days.**

**Many thanks to all everyone who's read this and, of course, an even bigger thank you to those who have actually reviewed…**

**Sorry for the idiotically long wait for this chapter to get out! I hope it was worth it!**

**I LOVE YOU ALL! (blows kisses)**

**XCrimsonxBlackxBloodx**

**PS. Do you think I should change my name?**

**PPS. How do you guys feel about a prequel - to find out how Deirdre got to the lab? ( At this point, any ideas you guys might have about it will be hugged, mutilated and mulched, then will find it's way into the story.)**


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